The 520 Cenz Promise
by EbonyIvoryy
Summary: At the age of fifty-one, Roy Mustang was finally getting promoted to the highest position in all of Amestris... but after all this time, does he have doubts? Angst!Roy muse, manga!verse, and a 'lil Royai here and there ;D Rated T-ish.
1. Part 1

_The 520 Cenz Promise;  
>Part One<em>

_**~xxx~**  
><em>

Philanthropy: the love of humanity. What it means to be human. Human potential.

To understand the term, one must experience it firsthand. They must put themselves through murder and bloodshed, angst and remorse. One must stain their hands with the life of another. They must observe the greed of men, blindly following them like dogs. Some may call it loyalty. Others call it mindless self deception.

But with Mustang's men, they knew their loyalty wasn't misleading. They would even die by the man's side if need be. Falman, Fuery, Breda, Havoc, and most importantly, Hawkeye, were going to see to it that Roy made it to the Fuhrer's seat, and were prepared to support him every step of the way.

The most beautiful thing? All these years later, they had kept their promise. At the age of fifty-one, Roy Mustang was finally getting promoted to the highest position in all of Amestris. Alas, his dreams were becoming reality.

At sunset, the ceremony would begin. Roy spent the entire day looking up to the sky, whether it was through a window or outside, waiting for those magical colors of scarlet, violet, mango, and lemon to set in. For hours on end, all he'd see is a cloudless, blue sky. His patience was wearing thin.

When he wasn't staring off into space, or peering up at the sky, Roy was staring blankly at his reflection. The mirror before him was a bit groggy and smeared, yet he couldn't have seen himself clearer. In the past twenty-some years, Roy has aged smoothly, not receiving one gray hair. His hairline was in-tact, accept he no longer wore his raven hair flailing amongst his face; it was now smoothed back to perfection, not a strand angling his head. The muscles of his twenties and thirties had atrophied somewhat, though he still maintained a healthy, slender frame, especially for a man in his early fifties. One thing that did seem to bother him a tad about aging, was the faint crows feet framing his eyes, in which suddenly appeared a mere year ago. Additionally, frown lines became apparent on him. It seemed that his irises had gotten darker too; they were always a coal color, but there was something about the wisdom he had gained, plus getting his eyesight back, that plunged them into an even darker tint.

Today, there was fire in those eyes.

Alas, a knocking sounded at the door. "Come in," he called to the main corridor, strolling away from the mirror. The extravagantly hand-carved wooden doors opened, and in-came his wife and son.

Ah, his wife. Mustang always felt at ease when she was around. And in the time that's passed, she hasn't aged too badly either. Her locks of peanut butter blonde had grown out again—bangs swooping to the side, half of her hair in the clip as the rest was let down, spiraling in smooth curls that she'd never worn in her twenties and thirties. Those amber eyes she possessed seemed softer and less pained, the curse of crow's feet just barely plaguing her, like her husband. She wore a modest pencil skirt, pointed red heels, a dark coat over a ruffled white blouse. Her nose was possibly longer, her mannerisms were more maternal than they used to be, and she may have switched out the earrings on her lobes for diamond studs.

No matter what age, Riza Mustang was stunning.

Before she could say a thing, their son interrupted, stomping toward his father. The boy was now thirteen. He obtained his father's genes in the hair department, though it had grown long and unruly, very typical for his age. Even so, his burgundy irises were so identical to his mother's, it finalized their blood relation to one another. He was lucky to have such a swift ladies' man as a father... because, due to that, the young man was always dressed sharply, fitted in decent trousers, tie, and a vest, appearing as a perfect little gentleman. Maes Mustang sure lived up to his name.

"I see that look on your face, dad," the boy forewarned, crossing his arms. "You better not wuss out. If it makes you feel any better, picture everyone in their underwear when you're up on stage."

In spite of himself, Roy grinned. "Thanks, son. But I don't think stage freight will be an issue..."

Riza knew very well that look in her husband's eyes. Even if it was a mere flicker, covered by a plastic grin. She intervened, placing her hands on Maes' shoulders.

"Would you mind greeting the guests outside? Your father and I need a word alone." Riza made a gesture to him, letting Maes know that 'no' was not an option.

He simply shrugged and walked the other way. One the sound of a click was made, the door was shut, and they were all alone.

"Roy—" she started, concern carried like an accent in her voice.

"No..." The man waved his hand in dismissal. "...I'm not having doubts, it's just..."

He cut himself off, almost as if he couldn't think of the right words. For a moment, he thought. A faint crowd could be heard outside.

Slowly but swiftly turning away, Mustang stepped toward the window. His gloved hands folded behind his back—a pensive pose. His ebony eyes observed what lied beyond that glass surface. A faint pink set into the clear blue sky, as if it was announcing the sunset's pre-arrival. It was also announcing the biggest moment in Mustang's life.

When the prolonging silence seemed to stay for far too long, Riza's lips parted, ready to speak, when—

"...You know, I didn't visit his grave today..." His words halted hers. "Was too afraid. You'd think it would give me courage, but... as I tried walking there... I felt as if I was letting him down. If I visited that grave, if I said everything that needed to be said, it would consummate my fate. I can't let him down, not if I turn out to be a failure." He undid his pose, looking down to his hands—both gloved, yet it seemed to him that they were thick with nics and cuts, callouses and blisters. As if he'd constructed a railroad on a hot summer's day.

"I feel so small right now. So insignificant. All these years I've been so competent and well-aware of my abilities, yet here I am, on _today _of all days, feeling insecure. It's not..." He swallowed. "...It's not that I'm scared I might fail, it's that I'm scared of being scared."

A pause. A moment of rest. Riza crushed this sense of quiet with a soft sigh. Her eyes lowered to her feet.

And again, he spoke; his voice dry, parched. "The power of one man doesn't amount to much."

A heavy case of nostalgia hit him as he remembered saying those same exact words in his twenties, when he fought in the Isvhalan War.

The light projection of heeled footsteps sounded behind him; a slender, soft hand eased over his broad shoulder.

"But it _does_." Riza's voice was velvet. That tone of voice was rare to hear back in the old days. She stared into the back of his neck, but her expression was just as sincere as if she were looking into his eyes.

"Roy, you were the one who persuaded me to join the military. Your words, they were so convinced. You knew that you could make a change in the nation of Amestris, and you went for it. Even after the war. Most would have left the military after that. But you stayed true to your word, as I did mine. You've inspired so many to find resilience. There is not a person in Amestris that doesn't hold faith in your capability. You have the most driving determination I have ever seen in a man, and that's no lie." This all came out of her throat smoothly. It doesn't require much thinking, because it came from the heart.

Finally, she made Roy turn his head, making eye contact. "And most importantly, you made a promise to your best friend. He supported you through all the thick. If you were to give in to your fears now, wouldn't that put his death in vain?"

It's been years since they buried Hughes, and Mustang was far from grieving, but nevertheless, there wasn't a minute that Hughes wasn't engraved somewhere in the back of his mind. There would not be a day when his face, or voice, or words were forgotten. They were always there. Even on Roy's wedding day, or the various times he and Riza made love, or the day that Maes was born. No matter the moment, Hughes was there... Even if the memory was pushed into a far corner.

Mrs. Mustang gave an encouraging smile, stroking her thumb along his cheek. "Now go out there and knock 'em dead, sir."

With the mention of 'sir', Roy almost wanted to answer, 'Yes, Lieutenant,' but refrained from doing so. Instead, he gave her an ardent peck and reflected her smile. Maybe after today's events they would visit Hughes' grave. Yes, that sounded excellent.

Later, Roy stood in a perpetually vast hallway, which led to the outside. He could see the pink sunlight at the end of the tunnel. Each grain of sand was falling from the hourglass, it seemed. Projecting as an echo into the hallway, he could hear a man speak on the microphone from outside. He spoke of 'the Great Amestris', the past virtue of legendary Roy Mustang, and the legacy of former Fuhrer Grunman. Roy would be lying if he said he didn't miss the man. After all, he was a relative of Riza's and a great ally during the Promised Day and events that preceded it. Mustang almost felt guilty when he passed away, not thinking a moment about what gain he received from Grunman's death. It was the farthest thing from his mind until someone had mentioned it.

Alas, the final words of the man's speech bellowed out into Mustang's ears. He was likely not to forget them.

_'Here, I present to thee,  
>a great war hero,<br>a man of honesty, integrity,  
>to transform our Great Amestris,<br>into a nation of philanthropy,  
>Our beloved Fuhrer... Roy Mustang...'<em>

That was his que. He took a few steps down the hallway, each step being a heavy one. The feeling was like walking through water. As his body hit the sunlight of the outside, he could've sworn he heard Hughes' voice. And then there was Riza's voice. And then his son's voice. And then Grunman. And then FullMetal. Their voices overpowered the cry of the booming audience.

And the rest was history.

* * *

><p><strong>AN; **I've been on a hiatus for the longest time, so I felt a lovely story should be in order. Truthfully, I've always wanted to write a fic similar to this ever since I started FanFiction, and alas, I finally did! :D I will most likely make a "Part Two", but I need your opinions.

Did y'all enjoy Mustang's inner struggle? ;D I know I did.

Anyways, if a lot of people seem to like this one, I may turn it into a multi-chapter story. AND FINISH IT. Jesus, I have no idea how many times I've left my multi-chapter stories unfinished. In fanfiction, anyways. Also, I was contemplating on giving middle-aged!Mustang a beard... but decided against it... ^-^ Bones already tortured us enough with that damned French 'stache.

Please review~? The author greatly appreciates it.


	2. Part 2

_The 520 cenz promise;  
>Part Two<em>

**_~xxx~_**

There's a slight breeze in Central. Cold, yet inviting. Opening its arms like a nurturing mother, cradling you and assuring your well-being with the softest of voices. The breeze spoke in murmurs, grazing the shell of Roy's ear. It wrapped around his chilled limbs like a woolen blanket. It was done mocking the man. It was done giving him the cold shoulder. Instead, it would be there for him. It would protect him from harm. It would remind him that he's not alone.

The breeze was a kind soul.

Mustang stood alone on the balcony, the faint noises of an orchestra and chattering voices being heard behind the closed glass doors. The after-party was filled with guests, such as politicians, fellow allies, friends, and wealthy people that he didn't even know. All the men were in tuxedos; all the women in nice, modest dresses. Mustang was even fitted into his own tuxedo, insisting on dressing no differently just because he was the new-found fuhrer.

The last breeze went silent as a door clicked open. Somewhat heavy footsteps advanced toward him. Mustang turned around. There before him, was Edward Elric. Not the Edward Elric he was used to; no, he was still used to that frown-bearing teenage boy that immediately came up with some snippy remark when they met eye contact. He was hardly used to Edward Elric as a full-grown man, in his thirties, a sly smirk placed on his features.

The fifty-one year old man hadn't seen him during the ceremony, so he had no idea that he'd be at the after party. His ebony brow spiked up.

"FullMetal?"

The blond grinned wider, spreading out his arms for the other man to take a good gander. "In the flesh," he replied.

Mustang mirrored his grin, busting out with a jolly laugh. He stepped forward to throw Edward in a 'man hug', patting his back with much exerting force. "I didn't expect to see you here! How the hell have you been?"

"_Eheheh_..." A low chuckle exited his throat as he pulled away. "Ya know, going back and forth between Resembool and Rush Valley. Crime fighting and all that."

Mustang folded his arms across his broad chest. "And your wife?"

Edward put his effort into a huge shrug, smirking and being helpless to do otherwise. "She's been good. Has me on my toes as always."

"Ah, so you're still whipped I see."

A purple vein throbbed in Ed's temple at that comment, but he was a grown man now. He had no need for riots.

"I wouldn't be the one to talk, _Fuhrer_," he responded, implying to the man's wife who was just beyond those glass doors.

Roy scratched the back of his head. FullMetal did have a point.

As Ed strolled to the edge of the balcony, his eyes of amber met the night sky. He then asked, "What are you doin' out here all alone, anyway? Shouldn't you be inside your own party?"

The man of jet hair stood beside him. He suppressed a sigh, tapping his fingers against the concrete railing. "Nah, I don't enjoy being the center-of-attention. Makes me anxious."

Edward snorted. He knew very well how sly and confident the man was. "That's bullshit, Mustang."

The corner of Roy's mouth pulled up as he let out a low cackle. Afterward, momentary silence. This was strange, being that Central City was never silent. There was always a dog barking, a car motor humming, groups of drunk people laughing, a bar piano playing.

"...Actually, I have to admit. I don't feel like having a party tonight. It makes me feel almost... guilty," Mustang confessed, obliterating the quiet.

Mr. Elric blinked. "Guilty...?"

He nodded. "It's like I'm celebrating Grunman's death. I know it sounds foolish, but I wish I could've became Fuhrer in a way that didn't involve him dying. After all, his funeral was but a month ago..."

Edward looked back and forth between him and the sky, him and the sky. Finally, he said, "Wouldn't Grunman _want _you to celebrate? Not his death, I mean. Your promotion. That was the first thing in his will, wasn't it?"

"I suppose."

More quietness. The dark sky had no stars, blinded by the city light. That is what Edward loved most about the countryside—his hometown. Stars went on for miles, the constellations making him feel superior to mundane matters. But Central just didn't give him that feeling.

Once again, Mustang was the first to speak. He decided on changing the subject. "...So did you bring your kids along?"

"Yeah, I did."

"And how are they?"

"Teenagers being teenagers. I sometimes wonder if I was like Theo when I was his age..."

Roy made a strange noise at the back of his throat and coughed to cover up a laugh. Edward's eyes narrowed at him, daring the man to make one comment...

Edward's orbs suddenly widened. "That reminds me..." He reached into his pocket, which earned the lifting of Roy's eyebrow. Some shuffling and rattling went on in his pocket, before a clenched fist came out and pointed toward Mustang.

The man continued to look perplexed. Edward's smirk grew. He opened his fist, revealing the coins in which rested on his palm.

"I believe it was 520 cenz I borrowed from you, was it not?" His tone was almost arrogant, outwardly confident. There was a spark in those honey-glazed eyes of his.

The smirking was catchy. Mustang, out of sheer impulse, curled his lips upward as he flashed his teeth. "It's about time," he declared. "I've been waiting for you to pay me back."

Just as he was about to reach out and grab it, Edward shut his fist again. Roy's smirk fell.

"Not so fast," he warned, waving an unoccupied finger. "I'm still holding onto this... and I'll pay you back once this country becomes a democracy." What was this, a bribe?

Like a light bulb switching on, Roy perked the corners of his lips once again. "How could I forget?"

As Edward stuffed the 520 cenz back into the warmth of his pocket, the Fuhrer added, "I assure you. I _will _get that money back. Even if it takes my entire presidency to do so."

Edward nodded slowly. "I'll hold you to that." He then pointed his index finger at the man. "And you better keep your word."

Roy didn't look the least bit intimidated. His dark brows knitted together. "I will do more than keep my word—I'll even persuade your sons to join the military."

The blond snorted twice that night, scoffing and snarling his nostril. Letting his sons take one step near the military? As if.

He flipped around, his ponytail dancing with the light chill of wind. Just as he opened the door—the volume of the party entering the balcony—he stopped in his tracks. Edward turned his head to look at Mustang.

"...My children are growing up in a nation under your rule... so you better not fuck this up. Make Amestris worth while..."

With that, Ed shut the door, leaving Roy in the night's shadows.

A silence.

His irises shot out into the night sky like a round of bullets, seeking out just _one _star—any star. But somehow, none were visible.

And then, a bright light. Another chill. Mustang could've sworn that it had dropped twenty degrees outside. Suddenly, in the corner of his eye, he noticed a pale hand resting on the concrete railing of the balcony.

His coal eyes drifted to the side, taking a glance at the mysterious figure standing beside him.

A man standing at about six feet tall, fare-skinned and slender, offsets his dark hair, spiked and ending in a characteristic forelock, as well as the sideburns trailing down the sides of his face. A patch of dark hair is worn on his chin, his lips thin and contrasting with the thickness of his brows. His long nose and rounded ears gave off a friendly impression, and the sharp suit he wore had him dressing for the occasion. His hazel eyes had the warmth of coffee grounds, but tonight, they glimmered. They shined like the crescent moon in the sky, reflecting its supernal light.

Roy Mustang didn't believe in ghosts. But, even so, he was one-hundred percent sure that in his presence was Maes Hughes...

**_To be continued..._**

**_-xxx-  
><em>**

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Ahh, don't you love when I leave you hanging? ;D So yeah, I got sick this weekend, which delayed me posting this until Sunday. But alas, I finished it! Ed and Roy had a heart-to-heart bro!manly talk thing, and next, be prepared for some Roy-reminiscing-with-BFF-emotional-time. Will update soon!

**Disclaimer: **(I forgot to put a disclaimer on the last one! D':) I DO NOT OWN FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST NO I DO NOT.


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